Sunday, January 6, 2008
THE "FIRST TIER GUY - HE NEVER GETS LAID"
DISCLOSURE: All women are crazy, but you have to live with them.I’m female. I don’t think like you do.
I’m living in a safe-house right now because I’m writing this essay. I’d rather my own sex not try to hunt me down and kill me as I try to change our world. This is vital stuff, guys. I’m giving away trade secrets here. So, let’s get down to work. In the sacred words of Rodney King, “Can’t we all just get along?” Frankly -- I have hopes.
"The First Tier Guy - He Rarely Gets Laid."
You and your buddy are going out for the night. Hit a club. Hit a bar. Find you some ladies and get your groove on.
You’ve got your game on. Maybe you’re sporting some Hugo Boss, or D&G, with a little a little Armani thrown in for good measure. You work out. Carry a Blackberry, and have a clean shave. You don’t smell like someone threw a bucket of Aqua Velva on you. Your nails are clean. You are ready to throw down.
Your buddy, who you’ve been friends with ever since college, has always been a fuck-up, but that’s okay, he’s good people, he cracks you up. He’s going out tonight with you. He’s wearing baggy jeans from The Gap, an oversized Fubu tee, and Bono-esque fly glasses. He bites his cuticles, doesn’t have TIVO yet, and still calls the ladies, “dude” to their faces. You’ve called him a pig, told him to grow up, but he’s not that guy. Guess what? You let the man be, cause he’s your boy.
He’s the Second Tier Guy.
You know it. He is oblivious to it -- yet he’s way more likely to get laid than you, Mr-Hugo-Boss-Blackberry-carrying-First-Tier guy. How can this be possible, you’re thinking. You smell better than he does, you can actually dress yourself, and you make your bed in the morning. Why are the odds on his side? I’m going to explain it to you.
First, let’s look at your gender of choice… mine.
Two women are going out to hit the bars and do a little clubbing tonight too. They’ve been friends since they met at a book club years ago. They’re both hot. One is a blond. One is a brunette. They wax, get mani-pedis on a regular basis, work out, and their breasts are real… and real nice. They’ve decided to take a taxi to the club or bar tonight in case they meet someone.
See, and this is where I hate to disappoint you, these girls are NOT going out tonight to get laid. They want to meet a nice guy. They’re sick of dating. They want to settle down. They want a boyfriend. They want you to call once a day to check in and see how they are. They want to introduce you to their friends and family. It’s not that they want to marry you right away, it’s just that they want a man in their life. One man. That’s why they are taking their waxed-bodied-manicured-toes-and-BCBG Max Azria- strapless dresses to hit the same hot spots you are. Makes no sense, right? Polar opposite needs that will never be met -- or so you think.
Second Tier guy may have a girl in his bed tonight.
This is the madness of evolution, guys. It’s Darwinism at its worst. Ever since we have crawled out of the slime only to become primordial beings that hunted and gathered, we’ve been at cross purposes. Both sexes have elemental, primal chips in our brains. Yours tells you to spread your seed. Ours tells us to find the strongest mate possible and create as many offspring as possible to continue this, our human race. You are absolutely right to want to go out there and get as much mad pussy as you can. Thing is, you ain’t gonna get the pussy if she doesn’t think there is a possibility you are her hunter and gatherer.
This is where the First Tier Man falls into the Vortex -- and the Second Tier Guy gets the girl.
You and your buddy see these two beauties in a booth at the bar you both happen to be at. You grab your buddy who is stealing maraschino cherries from the bar and pull him over to meet Blond and Brunette. You ask if you can join them. The invite you to sit down. You, the first Tier man, like Blond. She has a fresh, dewy look to her. You can almost feel yourself inside of her. Your buddy is left with Brunette.
You order drinks for all and keep them coming. Blond is impressed. You ask her name.“What’s your name?”
TRANSLATION: “Are we going to do it tonight, cause I’m buying all the drinks here?”
She says, “I’m Daisy.”
TRANSLATION: “Generous guy. He’s buying us all drinks. And he doesn’t smell like someone threw Aqua Velva all over him. I wonder if my mom would like him?”
You ask, “So what brings you ladies out tonight?”
TRANSLATION: “Getting your swerve on?"
Daisy says, “Oh, we just wanted to get out. Cut loose. Have some fun.”
TRANSLATION: “I hope he has a job.”
You say, “Yeah, me and my buddy here needed a night out too. Been working too hard.”
TRANSLATION: “Okay, I lied. I am just here to get laid.”
Daisy seems to relax after her first drink, “So where are you from?”
TRANSLATION: “I hope his parents are still together and he likes kids.”
You answer, “I just moved here from Chicago.”
TRANSLATION: “I just moved here from Chicago three years ago, but maybe she’ll think I’m lonely and sleep with me.”
Daisy says, “You have the most amazing eyes. I’ve never seen a color like that before.”
TRANSLATION: “He’s definitely boyfriend material. He can dress. He’s polite. And he’s not putting the moves on me like some kind of masher. If I keep throwing the compliments at him, maybe I’ll have a shot. Doesn’t hurt to put my hand on his forearm lightly. He’ll definitely think I’m interested -- in having a boyfriend.”
Daisy pust her hand on your forearm ever so gently as she smiles at you, a warm, sexy smile.
TRANSLATION: You are in.
But, you know what? You’re not.
Across the table Brunette and your buddy are having their own conversation.
You’re Buddy says to her, “Dude, you into the White Stripes? I can’t stop playing them in the car. Hey, the waitress didn’t bring lime with my tequila, bummer.”
TRANSLATION: “Dude, you into the White Stripes? I can’t stop playing them in the car. Hey, the waitress didn’t bring lime with my tequila, bummer.”
The Brunette says, “I’m not really into the White Stripes, but I’ll order more tequila with you.”
TRANSLATON: “My girlfriend got the good one and I’m left with this loser in Bono fly glasses. Might as well get loaded.”
Your buddy says, “Cool, let’s do some shots. By the way, nice tits.”
TRANSLATION: “Cool, let's do some shots. By the way, nice tits.”
You’ve charmed the pants off of Daisy -- figuratively. She likes you. Seems to respect you. Hangs on your ever word. And why shouldn’t she? You’re first Tier guy. It might have been nice if she would have drank a little more. But you have mad skills. This deal is closed. Or is it?Across the table, your buddy and the Brunette are getting hammered on your dime.
Your buddy says, “What’s your favorite movie? Mine’s “The Godfather.” No, “Scareface”. No, you know what, if they could put “The Godfather” into “Scarface”, that dude, would be the perfect movie. I have both on DVD at home."
TRANSLATION: “Wanna come to my crib, and fuck to “Scarface?”
Brunette says, “I’m not really into violent movies. I liked, “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.”
TRANSLATION: “Damn this tequila is making me horny. He is kind of cute in an ADD kind of way. I haven’t gotten laid for like three months. Daisy’s all hemmed up in the First Tier guy. I’m not going to let this night be a complete fucking waste, I waxed. And anyway, maybe he’s a good kisser. It’s not like I’ll ever have to see him again. If he asks for my number I’ll give him my ex-boyfriend’s. I’m drunk, hormonal and he seems like a fun guy to throw down with.”
The Brunette says, “I’d look at your DVD collection.”
TRANSLATION: “I won’t fuck you to “Scarface” but I will fuck you.”
The bar is closing down. Both you and your buddy have been preoccupied with your potential hook-ups. The girls kiss each other on the cheek, no animosity involved. The Brunette goes off with your crazy buddy.
You, lucky dog, get to take Daisy home. Things couldn’t look more promising as you tip the valet and hold her car door open for her. Her legs are smooth, soft and shiny in the half-mast moonlight.
Your buddy parked on the street. He and the Brunette are arm in arm, stumbling to his car.
You walk Daisy to her condo. She’s demure, erotic and sweet. You watch her soft, bare shoulders as she fumbles for her keys.
You say, “Maybe I could come in? Have a night cap?”
TRANSLATION: “Let’s knock boots.”
Daisy says, “Know what, I would, but I am so tired. And I’m afraid if I let you come in and we have another drink, things will get, you know, out of control. And I really like you. I’d like to see you again.
TRANSLATION: “This guy is perfect. If I let him in and he gets me to bed, I’ll be waiting by the phone every day until he calls. And if he doesn’t call, I’ll be all depressed and eat a pint of Hagen Dass every night for a week. Anyway, I can tell this guy had morals. I don’t want him to think I’m easy. Guys never go for girls who are easy. Better I test him out and see if he’s sincere. He seems sincere, but still, I want him to want me, and he won’t want me if he’s had me. Maybe on the third date, when I can tell if he’s serious, but not tonight. I want to lock this guy in.”
Daisy asks for your Blackberry. You give it to her,confused. Why isn’t she letting you in? You’re First Tier Guy.
Daisy, smiles at you, a bedroom smile of things to come as she puts her information into your Blackberry.
She says, “Call me. I’d really like to see you again.”
TRANSLATION: “You’re not getting into my panties tonight. You’re way too much of the perfect hunter and gatherer. You’re going to have to work for it.”
She kisses you on the cheek and lets herself in her condo, locking you out. Locking you out? First Tier Man? You stand there in the florescent glow of her hallway. You’re stunned. How could this happen? It was all going so well.
It’s that primordial chip, my friend. She saw you as a POTENTIAL. It’s the most dangerous thing a guy like you looking for some pussy could be.
You walk to your car, frustrated, pissed. You erase her number from your Blackberry. All you wanted was a booty call. You are, after all, the First Tier Man.
At your buddy’s place, he and the Brunette and sucking down more tequila and shagging like there’s no tomorrow. Because there isn’t. Not for this relationship.
Second Tier Guy got some, if for no other reason then she was in the mood and he was clearly not boyfriend material.
So guys, as I sit here, looking out the window at my little herb garden in my safe-house, I can only tell you this. Sometimes being the First Tier Guy can be a problem, because despite the fact that you don’t feel like being relationship material, most woman are going to think you are. This leaves you alone at the end of the night, with your credit card maxed out, looking for your favorite porn DVD.
Trying so hard to be the First Tier guy isn’t really helping your game.
Next time wear Bono fly glasses instead.